|
2002-06-05 - 11:05 a.m.
I�m not a picky eater, at least not intentionally, it�s just that things need to be perfect and without a trace of anything that would gross me out if I thought too hard about it
for me to eat them. I am finding that there are increasingly fewer and fewer things I can
eat now. It is because of my �gross out� factor that I found myself at the grocery store
tonight looking disdainfully at the shelves of hot cereal. There is no longer anything at
work, at least nothing nutritious, that I can eat. I can�t eat eggs anymore unless I make
them at home with cage free, organic eggs and I have to separate all the ropy looking fiber
stuff and the yolk from the white. My whites must be perfectly clear or I start gagging.
And I can�t eat oatmeal at work because I am too afraid that someone might spit in it.
Not that I have ever seen anyone do that, but the fear resides in me because I know the
cooks HATE making oatmeal. And I can�t eat pancakes anymore either because I have to
have butter for them but I can no longer eat the butter at work because it is a
margarine/butter mix and I have recently developed a very solid abhorrence for chemicals.
So there I stand, my legs and arms covered in dirt because when I decided to go to the
store I was knee deep in soil in the garden. I must have been talking to myself. I must
have been making faces because a HUGE, leather coat and chaps wearing fellow with wild
long white hair and a scar across his forehead stopped at the end of the aisle and looked
quizzically at me. Then he took a few gruff steps towards me and stopped.
�You having problems?� he asks.
I�m shocked into silence, this guy is not only HUGE, but he�s scary looking as well.
You can just tell this guy doesn�t come home from work at 5 PM and put his bedroom
slippers on to read the paper. This guy works third shift and during the day he rides his
Harley around with a rat hanging from his lips. �Uh, they don�t seem to have chocolate
Malt-O-Meal,� I tell him in a quiet voice.
�Let me look,� he orders while I step away. He carefully peruses the shelves with his
index finger extended and scanning the rows of boxes. �They sure don�t have that, they
have the maple and brown sugar though,� he tells me with a scowl.
�But I want the chocolate,� I whine.
He pulls himself to full height and looks around for a stocker. I�m afraid he�s going to
beat the crap out of one if he finds one. I�m very very afraid. I can just see the headlines.
�Biker beats stocker to death for forgetting to stock Chocolate Malt-O-Meal for local
girl.� Yikes. I start to tell him it�s okay, I don�t care, I�ll just eat oatmeal with spit for
breakfast but he puts his hand on my shoulder and says, �You know, CoCo Wheats are
just as good as Malt-O-Meal if you know how to cook �em right.�
�What?� I ask with a mild disbelief, did this huge biker guy who probably ate children
for dinner just say, �CoCo Wheats�? That somehow just doesn�t seem like a word that
should be coming from his mouth.
�Well, if you add the CoCo Wheats SLOWLY to the water and you add brown sugar
before, they taste just as good,� his hand is still nestled on my shoulder.
Based on his recommendation and instructions I placed the CoCo Wheats in my
basket, thanked him and impishly said, �If I don�t like them I�m holding you accountable
and I WILL come after you,� I tell him with a grateful and still surprised smile on my
face.
He got all bashful then, this HUGE and SCARY biker guy got all bashful and cute.
He said, �You just make sure to add them SLOWLY to the water or they get all clumpy,�
his hand grips my shoulder gently and he turned away to continue shopping.
When I got to the checkout lane I encountered him again, this time he was picking
through the Pez dispenser display. This made me chuckle. I had the vision of this mean
and scary biker guy, his belly full from CoCo Wheats, rumbling down the road with a
Kermit the Frog Pez dispenser cocked and ready. |
| 